#rosewulf

he eyes the wound for but a moment before he nods. it is not a deep wound, at the very least, he thinks as he smiles at her. “ i know you are ” he replies. he would not deny that to her. “ i believe so, lady lyanna. ” despite the title he uses, his tone holds none of the formality that it usually would when he speaks to others. he looks at the wound, hums to himself as he moves to the side for a spare shirt so she would not drip blood as she walked once it was done. that was easily replaceable ― it was but a cotton shirt and he had plenty that one would likely not be missed. he preferred to do that than to go to the maester. he trusted gerardys with all his secret, with his life, but he was like to ask questions. perhaps he ought to start keeping bandages. it was not as though he could not say he wished them in case joffrey stumbled hurt, but if he went now, he would ask more questions than he wished. if lady lyanna preferred to skip the visit to the maester and avoid the questions, avoid a scolding if that was what worried her, he would not be the one to talk. besides, he thinks, he was not lying when he said he knew how to see to it. it takes him a few minutes, but once he drags the basin with water and he has the shirt ripped, it would not be much work.

The theatrical clownery of this traveling entertainer is, undoubtedly, amusing. It's why he's been allowed to stick around--But he does like to push lines and boundaries when he can. Hence, his sudden recitation of poetry:

"But soft! What light through yonder window breaks?" He holds his hand to his chest, the other out, reaching for perhaps that aforementioned light--And no, now he is holding out to Lyanna herself. "It is the east, and my lady is the sun."

A small flower blooms from the pads of his middle finger and thumb (a cheap parlor trick, surely), as he extends it towards her.

          HE SMELLS THE BREAKFAST BEFORE HE SEES IT,     but it's l.yanna's lips against his cheek that shake him awake.     (GROWING UP ATOP A DINER IS WHAT MAKES ONE IMMUNE TO THE SCENT OF BREAKFAST FOOD.)     it does nothing to soften the confusion———     less at her presence,   that e.ames had been aware of.   it's a surprise,   perhaps,   but a welcome one  &  he is not one to look a gift horse in the mouth.   so excuse him if he only pauses for a second,   eyes closed  &  only a slight smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.   hey,   e.ames is allowed to enjoy the little pleasures in life sometimes!     "good morning to you,   too,"     he finally sighs,   cracking his eyes open just enough to look at lyanna,   first,   &  the source of the scent,   second.   if anyone has ever made him breakfast in bed before     (WHICH HE IS LENIENT TO DOUBT)     it has certainly never smelled this nicely.     "mh,   what have i done to deserve this?   is it my birthday or   .  .  .   something———"     it is then that he pauses as realization hits.   in all fairness,   it is very early in the morning.   &  if you only get a real birthday every four years,   he should be allowed to forget it sometimes.   which only makes the fuzzy feeling in e.ames' chest become somewhat more palpable.   he resists the urge to pull the blanket over his head  &  instead,   laces his fingers with lyanna's  &  kisses her knuckles.     "it is,   huh?   thank you for remembering   .  .  ."